The name seemed terrible; she turned pale, but he hurried on, losing himself again in his excitement, and with all his haggard features working: 

“Yes, yes, I know what you will say, but do you not understand that if this is what I believe, anything will be forgiven to the man who can put the sergent de ville on the track?”

“If! At any rate I will do what you bid me,” the young wife said, trembling.  “There is a bureau not so far away.  Only promise me you will be prudent, for I must leave Perine here, though I will lock the door.  Remember, M. Plon has his own keys.”

Nor would she relax one of her precautions in spite of his heated impatience.  But she had spoken truly, for after the daily fear of years, the personal danger of encountering the robbers assuredly seemed nothing in comparison with having to do with the police.  She told Perine where she was to sit, and tried to extract more coherent details, but only as to the figures was Perine clear.  These she repeated again and again, while more than once Jean’s sharp whisper reached his wife’s ears.  “Make haste, make haste!” and she signed caution in return.

When she had gone there was for some time absolute silence in the garret, Jean having flung himself on his bed, and given himself up to a wild delirium of hope.  By-and-by this took the form of restlessness.  He tossed and tumbled on his bed, and, his ear full of sounds which expectation and imagination brought there, sometimes started up, keen to listen, and the next moment pressed his fingers into his ears, to try to shut out these delusive sounds.  Then he became almost as reckless as to Perine; what did her seeing him matter when so soon he would be a free man?  Once or twice the bed creaked and groaned under his tossings, so that he imagined she would surely look round.  But no, the girl was blind and deaf to everything but Marie’s orders, she sat squarely on the wooden stool with her elbows on her knees, and her chin on her hands, every now and then uttering a disjointed sob, until fatigue and tears brought about their natural consequence, and it became evident that she was asleep.

Jean got up and shook himself and looked out at her, his head in a whirl.  He began to think that Marie was long absent, and to lay the blame on the back which was always ready to bear his burdens.

“She will not know where to go, she will stand gossipping with any fool who asks her a question, and in this time I would wager a piece of twenty sous the police or some other busy-body will have got on the track.  What more likely?  And there’s an end to our luck.  Why did I let her waste all these moments?  Why didn’t I go myself?  Women always muddle things.  There would have been a scene, beyond doubt. ’Hola!—­thunder and lightning, who may this be?’” Jean planted himself in an attitude, and struck his chest violently.  “Then I should have drawn myself